Asylum
by Mary4
Summary: Veronica is institutionalized after a mental breakdown.


Asylum  
By Mary C. Paul  
Jerricaangel@yahoo.com  
  
My name is Veronica, and I'm crazy. I don't remember exactly when I fell   
off my high horse and hit the ground, but I remember I went to school one day   
naked as a strip croquet victim. I went to my art class and started chopping off   
my hair with a pair of scissors. Other than that, there isn't much to say. All I   
know is I was suckered in by this cool guy who made me feel like I was a   
goddess. How could I have known that was because he intended to play God? How   
would I have been able to tell that the life I had was a gift I couldn't keep? I   
can stop fucking kidding myself, because I knew I was going to hell from the   
beginning. Now here I am, and my fucking psycho of a boyfriend is chunks of dead   
flesh and ashes, and he's in hell right now laughing his ass off at me here,   
committed to a mental institution. To me that's worse than any fucking irony,   
it's the definition of fucked.  
  
  
That was how I introduced myself at the first group session. After that,   
they yanked me from the group and I was thrown into private sessions. They   
didn't realize how bad I was. They probably just thought I was depressed. This   
was beyond their comprehension. The term "shrinks" actually refers to their   
brain mass and ability to understand people. It has nothing to do with them   
being able to reduce you to the size of a thumbtack as you sit listening to the   
lies they bury you in, making a pathetic attempt to tell you what's really wrong   
with you. I laughed every time one of them took a stab at what was inside my   
head. I never told them about my part in anything at Westerberg, never mentioned   
JD more than in passing, never let Freud slip me up so he could stamp Cain's   
mark on my forehead. That information would die with me, and this fucking asylum   
would probably be my grave.  
I was sitting in the rec room watching "The Wizard of Oz" for the   
hundredth time. I wanted to click my heels together and magically wake up at   
home in my bed before the whole fucking thing ever started. I'd go to school   
that day and avoid the Jesse James Dean like the black plague, and never let   
that dark cloud hover over me, never give him a chance to infect me with his   
warped fucking idea of rebellion. I could go on every day pretending to be   
happy, ignoring everyone whose opinion really didn't matter. I could let it all   
slide, just knowing that I was not an accessory to murder, that I hadn't killed   
my best friend and two star athletes. Fuck it! They could all live, it didn't   
matter if we'd never live in peace. That was never going to happen anyway.  
I deluded myself the whole time I was with JD and this is the cost of   
disillusionment. The price I paid was my freedom, my sanity, my conscience. If I   
could wake up at home in my bed that morning, I'd make the conscious decision to   
not get backed into that corner, leave the dark horse to run, and none of this   
would ever happen. I wouldn't be in this pill-popping candyland with a secret   
burden to bear, the cross JD built on my back and then took himself out of the   
fucking equation.  
This was a Barnum and Bailey's for the mentally and socially inept, and I   
was the tragedy attraction of the hour. Everyone knew about poor Veronica. First   
her best friend killed herself, then two football players she knew killed   
themselves, and finally her boyfriend strapped a fucking bomb to his chest, and   
she watched helplessly as he killed himself right on the front steps of the   
school. Yes, poor little Veronica. Sometimes I felt like spitting it out at them   
like a slap in the face, like shouting, "Hey, you think you've got fucking   
problems! Well, I served my best friend a wake-up cup full of liquid drainer,   
then forged a suicide note so it would look like she killed herself..." I could   
make them shrink back from me, like psychosis was as contagious as leprosy. The   
temptation ate away at my insides when they carried on about how nobody loves   
them, or why they wanted to kill themselves. I wanted them to know I was Dr.   
Death for people who didn't want a prescription, then see how fucking pale their   
so-called complications seemed after I'd spewed my sins out on to the floor in   
front of them for all to see.  
I never did though. I wanted to shock them. I wanted to shock my   
therapist. I wanted to shock myself, and then maybe if there was one other   
person who knew, I wouldn't feel so guilty. I never said anything, because I   
knew it wouldn't change anything. I'd spend the rest of my life locked up either   
way, so I'd rather it were somewhere no one had to know anything I didn't want   
them to know. That gave me the power. That gave me control. If I lost control,   
my head would grow back in JD's place, and at the same time needing that power   
and control made me just as scared I'd turn into him. If I was going to do it, I   
was in the right place. Hold back, lose it-it didn't make a difference here, not   
in my case.  
I sat and stared at the television most of the day, and what little time I   
didn't spend being a passive-aggressive shell in the rec room, I spent being a   
passive-aggressive shell in my bed curled up in a fetal position. This day was   
like any other day-me sitting in front of the television, one arm wrapped around   
my legs, the other resting on my knees, reaching for my hair, finding the long   
length of it gone, then proceeding to twirl the few inches of hair I had left on   
my head after that day with the scissors. It surprised me I never thought of   
jamming them into my fucking skull while I was cutting. When I thought about it,   
I had never even tried to put myself out of my misery. I didn't want to end up   
like JD, and I didn't want to join him either. I was going to win, and not give   
him the satisfaction-Jesus! I'm fighting with a fucking ghost! You belong here,   
Veronica!  
Then one of the nurses called out from down the hall. "Veronica Sawyer,   
you have a visitor." I hated having to leave the rec room. I didn't really enjoy   
my visitations. It was always my parents, then on occasion, Betty Finn came to   
see how I was doing. It was nice to think I had one actual friend, but at the   
same time I knew if I ever told her the truth about what I'd done, she'd never   
come back. My parents just loved to stop by and ask if I was getting any better,   
and what my therapists were saying, and talk about all the great things I was   
missing, and ask when I was going to be able to come home. I was never fucking   
going home. If JD didn't eventually haunt me into finally slitting my wrists,   
I'd keep myself here if it meant faking a psychotic episode.  
I walked out to the nurse and with the most listless expression and   
mindless tone, I asked, "Where are they?"  
"They're going to meet you in the visiting center." That was odd. Usually,   
they were allowed to just come right in, make themselves at home, like they were   
guests of the psycho ward. The visitation room was like the caf at school, only   
smaller. It was just a bunch of tables with those round little extensions held   
up on metal legs for seats. It just reinforced the fact that this was a mental   
institution. The walls were all painted white so as not to excite anyone or   
stimulate outpourings of emotion, and there were no separate chairs that could   
be used as weapons or become objects of abuse. The whole thing was a fucking   
depressing sight in and of itself.  
The nurse walked me downstairs to the completely deserted visiting room,   
and sat me down at the table in the far right corner to wait for my visitor even   
though the whole place was empty. I put my head down on the table, and buried my   
face in my arms. I let myself get lost in the silent abyss that was this fucking   
ugly room. I didn't hear a sound, not the squeak of a door opening, not the thud   
of a door closing, not a single footfall, and it was beautiful being that alone   
for just a few minutes, but then rasp and gravel.  
"Greetings and Salutations."  
I froze. My heart caught on the barbed wire strings of the Devil's harp,   
snagged by its painfully familiar chord. I mustered the courage and slowly   
picked my head up off the table. My eyes were as wide open as they could be,   
eliminating the possibility I was dreaming. My mouth formed a perfect little   
circle, and my breath came out of it so delicate, and very gradually I started   
breathing heavier, like I'd hyperventilate in slow motion. It was him. JD was   
sitting right in front of me, rigth across the fucking table from me flashing me   
that fucking omnipotent grin that screamed the joke was on me, and bending those   
eyebrows like hooks knowing he had me.   
I managed to get words to come, full of breath and whispers. "You're not   
dead."  
He had his hands folded in front of him like a mafia choirboy and when he   
spoke he opened his fingers. "You noticed. You're quick. I always liked that   
about you."  
His voice seemed so loud, reverberating slightly in a room with no echo,   
and I couldn't raise mine a single decibel. "Why aren't you dead?"  
"Now THAT is a good question! It's a GREAT fucking question! Too bad you   
weren't armed with that artillery the day we met. It would've made great   
material-you know, instead of that lotto-Ed McMahon shit question. Since you've   
got such a brilliant question for me, Veronica, I have one equally as amazing   
for you. It's a real doozy. You wanna hear it?" He was bursting with life and   
enthusiasm, and I was wishing he'd just burst-like I thought he had already.  
I sat and stared at him in the mindless way I did the television so often.   
The only difference was the incredulous twist and shock in my eyes, but even   
that was fading, like my facial expression was going numb. I answered him with   
the same hushed voice that I couldn't inject with any strength. I thought if   
that would just happen, I might be able to exhibit some of that power he saw in   
me once, because he sure as hell didn't see it now. "What's your fucking   
question?"  
"Who's the fucking psycho now, huh?" He scoffed, chuckled a little bit,   
mocked me with his squinting, scornful eyes. "I mean, think about what this   
says. I'm walking around out there, while you're rotting away in here. It hurts   
to look at me, doesn't it. Well, forgive me, darlin', but I'm feeling VERY   
fucking superior right now. You can't imagine the sheer thrill of hearing you   
were hauled away to the nut house, and you know me-I just couldn't resist the   
temptation! Here's a fifty-cent word for you-serendipity. Remember that one next   
time you're taking a vocab test with safety pencils and a circle of paper!"  
I wanted to find the strength to kill him with my bare hands. Even though   
he was finding himself infinitely amusing in that demonic JD way, he restrained   
himself from going into hysterics right there and then. He lashed out at me   
without blinking an eye, cold, controlled, the trenchcoat centerfold. I didn't   
even have time to feel a wound before he hit me again, everything he did letting   
me know he'd save his boisterous laughter for when he rode off on his Harley,   
certain I was breaking down in tears as he sped away from this shit hole. I was   
becoming desperate to make it clear that wasn't going to happen. I wanted to get   
him to stop, which was all I had ever wanted since the second I'd seen him   
start. He knew he had enough ammunition to take me, break me, then forsake me. I   
was powerless against him, because I didn't have the big guns to whip out like   
he did-NO! That wasn't true, and if I could just have played this angle right, I   
blast him to bits with it. I'd blow the lid off his whole fucking complacent,   
self-righteous deal!  
Suddenly, I got the balls to make my stand, because I had a trick up my   
sleeve he couldn't trip me on. My voice regained that strength and I was firm   
enough to make that smug little smile melt off his fucking face. "Laugh it up,   
JD. Laugh it up, because you won't be laughing very fucking long. You blew it   
big time, asshole. Now that I know you're alive, I can tell everyone the truth.   
I'll tell them about Heather, Kurt and Ram, and what the real story was behind   
your sick fucking petition. I don't care if I go down, because you're going to   
break my fall!"  
I was resonant, and shot him back a wicked little smirk. I thought how   
well I had showed him he wasn't the only one ready to play. He built up a   
laughing riot and every time he glanced back to me, he erupted into hysterics   
again, as though my seriousness and attempt to be threatening was too funny to   
ignore. I sat patiently waiting for the hyena-jackal hybrid to quit howling at   
the moon, and try to dodge this silver bullet.   
"You are a stupid bitch, you know that. You had me fooled thinking you   
were smart for a while, but I was right about you from the beginning." His   
laughter died out, and he leaned in closer to me, glaring directly into my eyes   
with that same predatory cunning. "Look at where you are! Do you honestly think   
anyone's going to believe one fucking word you say? Jason Dean is dead. I'm a   
figment of your fucked-up, tormented imagination. I'm nothing more than a   
hallucination brought on by a guilty conscience. You're credibility is stillborn   
at this point, my dear."  
I was crushed. He squashed all my hope with one blow, and that's the end   
of this entire war I've been deceiving myself into thinking I was winning. Poof,   
just like that I was defeated. I shrank right there in front of him without   
budging. I wanted him as far away from me as possible. I wanted to scream for   
him to leave, but all I could say was, "Why are you here?"  
"What's that, darlin'?"  
"I said why are you here? You can go. You've won. You must be pretty full   
of yourself right about now. You said it yourself, I'm in here, and you're out   
there. So why are you still here?"  
"Ah, the direct approach. Another thing I always liked about you. You   
don't beat around the bush. I never have to wonder what you're thinking, because   
you just tell me, even if I didn't ask for your opinion." On the outside, I just   
looked like I was sulking, but every word he said made my blood boil and it   
scalded me to have to listen. "I can get you out of here."  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was making it worse, compounding   
everything he hated about me upon everything I hated about him, then suddenly   
waving a blood-stained flag as a peace offering in the interest of self-  
gratification. "You have to be kidding."  
"No, Veronica, my love, I kid you not."  
Something softened in his face, but it wasn't his callous glare. He seemed   
more relaxed, like I was expected to trust him and he could get comfortable.   
"Why?"  
"You see, Sherwood is just too fucking boring, and in the past year, I   
haven't been able to get cozy anywhere for more than a few months. I'm moving on   
to greener pastures. Just passing through really. I thought I'd look you up   
maybe, but when I heard about your predicament, I decided I wasn't going to pass   
up an opportunity as unique as this one, and for two reasons. One-because I   
needed a good laugh today, and this is something I'm going to remember for the   
rest of my life. Two-I thought I'd throw caution to the wind, let the chips fall   
where they may, and make you an offer. I'll get you out of here, if you come   
with me." He was out of his fucking mind! After all this time, after all this   
shit, after all his insults and trying to kill me! What really burned me up was   
that I was seriously considering taking him up on it. "I've always had a soft   
spot for you, Veronica. I like having you around, and believe it or not, I miss   
having you around."  
I was fuming, but more than that I was conflicted. I felt that same way,   
but I could never in reality stay with him as nice as the fantasy is. Life with   
JD isn't the way I think of it sometimes. I can fantasize all I want, and while   
I'm pretending he and I get along like Bonnie and Clyde, I might as well pretend   
Heather, Ram and Kurt are still alive too. It's a beautiful fantasy, but the   
reality and truth of it was that life with JD was a fucking nightmare, and here   
he was, the Devil with his contract making it sound so simple.  
"You could walk out of here with me today!" His words were so enticing,   
and for a moment he was full of passion and sounded excited at the thought of   
the two of us carrying on like we were a hell of a team, him the Devil and me   
his concubine. "You can come with me and have a second chance at the door I   
tried to open to you a year ago. Of course, you can always stay here and die the   
mature adult you always wanted to be. Either way, it's no skin off my back. I   
like you, Veronica, but I don't need you. As much as I might miss you at times,   
I can live very easily without you. I would like having you around again though.   
Things are always interesting with you. You're a luxury item, a novel concept,   
you follow me? So, what do you say?"  
I watched him wait impatiently for my response or my retaliation. I think   
he knew deep down I would never agree to that, and that I would never go with   
him. I think he made the offer just in case I faltered, just in case I might   
cave or have a moment of weakness he could use to his advantage, and I'm sure he   
made the offer to double as a taunt. The lure of freedom-his kind of freedom-  
dangled in front of me, not only to be cruel, but to see if I might take the   
bait. The tease was merely an added bonus to him.  
"Fuck you! I'm not going anywhere with you. We are over! I thought you   
were fucking psychotic then, and I think you're fucking psychotic now."  
"Yes, that may be true, but I'm not going to be the one to die in a   
fucking asylum, am I." He leaned in closer to let his eyes burn holes into my   
soul. "And you have it all wrong, my dear. You're the one who's fucked here, not   
me."  
I couldn't stand his tone or his expression anymore. I wanted to rip that   
fucking smile right off his face, and I reached across the table and grabbed the   
collar of his jacket. He was strong and he'd fought me off before, but he didn't   
once lift a finger to defend himself against my physical attack. I shook him, I   
climbed on top of the table to really get at him, and then I realized why he   
wasn't fighting back. I felt two of the male orderlies grab my arms and pull me   
off him and start dragging me away from the table into the corner kicking and   
screaming like a fucking mental patient.  
"Needless to say, my offer has expired. Nice seeing you again, Veronica!   
Have a wonderful life. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, et cetera." My eyes   
stayed fixed on him, but his voice was being drowned out and my vision got   
fuzzy, and as he walked out the door, I was being rendered unconscious by the   
injection they shot into me to subdue me.  
I woke up the next morning safe and sound in the security of my room on   
the third floor, curled up on my bed, like any other night I would have crawled   
into it on my own. When my eyes opened a little wider, I saw the earliest light   
of the morning peeking through the window, and noticed the curtains were   
billowing in the breeze. I sat up when I realized the window was wide open. That   
was when I saw the folded piece of purple cloth on my pillow. I unfolded it   
carefully, and jumped back off the bed and stood up against the wall disgusted   
and repulsed. The stench of decay and formaldehyde and God knows what other   
preservatives filled the air. It was JD's middle finger.  
  
  
By: Mary C. Paul  
Copyright March 2001  
  



End file.
